


Reliability of Reality

by azure_horizon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-25
Updated: 2011-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure_horizon/pseuds/azure_horizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s body has become so accustomed to having Sherlock inside of him, it doesn’t always differentiate between reality and subconscious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reliability of Reality

**Author's Note:**

> I feel I should perhaps add a note. This fic contains sleep-sex, which in a way could be considered dub-con but it's an established relationship and John's not going to complain.

John woke up hard.

Since moving into Baker Street, this hadn’t been an unusual occurrence. Not entirely.

What was unusual about it, this time though, was that his body was moving quite of its accord as his bed partner used his own hips to roll John onto his front. It was only then that John realised he’d been thrusting into thin air; a remnant of the ridiculously hot dream he’d been having of fucking Sherlock into the bed while the other man moaned incomprehensibly.

And then John realised, rather belatedly, he thought and blamed his sleep-addled mind, that Sherlock was buried ball deep in John’s arse. He moaned, his hips thrusting forward of their own accord and he heard Sherlock chuckle darkly above him.

“I was wondering much longer you would stay asleep.” His voice was thick, deep and it sent vibrations right through John’s already convulsing body and he thought _oh God, Sherlock’s been at this for a while_ because he was already so close so _ridiculously_ close... “I’ve been fucking you with my fingers for almost thirty minutes.” John moaned, gulped in half mouthfuls of pillow-filtered air and thrust backwards against Sherlock’s slow - _oh, God so slow_ rhythm. “Your muscles are much more relaxed when you’re asleep John. It was ridiculously easy for me to slide my cock into you...” he breathed hotly, tilting his body to the side and pulling John’s hip to an awkward angle that slid him in deeper and John didn’t think... he couldn’t and... “You’ve been driving me crazy for the last forty minutes, John... moaning quietly – it’s been driving me crazy wondering what you were dreaming of. Tell me, John, tell me what you were dreaming about.”

John gasped, the words forming in his mind but his throat refused to work, refused to let the words slip out. He groaned instead and he felt Sherlock’s lips at the back of his neck, his warm breath moist on his neck.

“You!” he managed, finally, when Sherlock stopped thrusting and he could feel Sherlock’s smirk at his ear, could feel it in the way his hips jerked again, sending blots of colour across John’s vision. John bit into the pillow.

“I’ve thought about doing this for so long, John. Watching you sleeping at night, watching your erection grow in the morning... I didn’t realise your body had become so accustomed to having me inside of you that your subconscious mind wouldn’t differentiate between the physical word and your dreamscape.” John groaned and rutted against the mattress beneath him. “Good, John, very good. Let me make you come. You’ve been hard for so long, it must be painful, right?” John nodded jerkily, his stilted movements not enough and part of his mind would later balk at the pathetic whimper that escaped his throat. “Not enough, John? Is it not enough, just me being inside of you? Do you really need me to touch you, to make you come?”

John gasped because now he could feel it building, could feel the pressure starting from his balls, working it’s way up through his cock and his whole body spasmed as Sherlock thrust gently into him, his hips rolling against John’s arse before he too stilled and John felt warm, liquid heat fill him up, spurring on his orgasm. It was powerful, felt like the muscles were tearing from his bones and the white noise that filled his head was only punctuated by the sound of Sherlock’s low, growling moan at his ear and the sheets beneath him were warm and sticky and damp and he kept rutting against them until the pleasure edged on painful and he stilled, Sherlock’s weight heavy and boiling hot against his back.

John turned his head, gasping in cooler, less pillow-filtered air and Sherlock squirmed slightly to the side, his arm resting across the middle of John’s back. They both were panting, Sherlock’s breath mingling with the sweat soaked hair at the nape of John’s neck.

“That...” John began, sucking a lungful of air before turning his head the other way to look at Sherlock – his smile smug, eyes closed, “was fucking...”

“Yes, I believe it was.”

“I was going to say ‘hot’.”

Sherlock opened one eye and peered at him, amused.

“And yet...”

John chuckled breathlessly, feeling sleep tugging at the corners of his mind again, even as Sherlock tugged at his body, urging it into the curve of his own. John went willingly, his body pliant under Sherlock’s touch.

“And yet...” John murmured in reply, some minutes later when Sherlock’s response was a quiet huff of air against his neck.

John fell asleep with Sherlock’s limp cock nestled against his butt cheeks, Sherlock’s semen cooling at the crease of his arse and thighs as his own dried on the sheets beside him.

They’d need a thorough clean in the morning.


End file.
